


Never could get the hang of Tuesdays

by Liviapenn



Category: Psych
Genre: Chromatic Character, Gen, first story in this fandom, gen-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-01
Updated: 2007-11-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:13:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liviapenn/pseuds/Liviapenn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about Shawn is that he's brilliant, but you can never tell him that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never could get the hang of Tuesdays

**Author's Note:**

> A "Psych" snippet written for zvi.

The thing about Shawn is that he's brilliant, but you can never tell him that, because he already thinks he's about ten times more brilliant than he actually is. The thing about Shawn is that he's fallible, which is why he needs Gus to look after him.

Really, what Shawn needs is a full-time keeper, and the one good thing-- all right, one of the good things, but the fact that Gus is enjoying being a private detective is another thing that goes straight into the never-tell-Shawn-this file-- anyway, the one good thing about being a part of this new business venture of Shawn's is that at least now, Gus is actually getting paid for the time and effort he puts into keeping Shawn out of trouble.

It's always been a full-time job keeping Shawn out of trouble. Just ask his Dad.

Today Gus' plan of attack is to refocus their business strategy. Except not in those words exactly, because those words make Shawn flop around like he's having a seizure and then fall out of his chair backwards and then pretend to have comprehensive post-traumatic amnesia for the rest of the afternoon.

The point is-- Gus has a whole list of good arguments as to why it would be better for their joint business venture to depend on walk-in business. For one thing, it'd be a lot safer if they just took jobs from civilians, instead of going out of their way to get hired by the Santa Barbara police. Civilian jobs are much less dangerous in terms of getting shot at, beaten up, blown up, run off the road, thrown off a ship, or hung upside down in a biker bar. Second, when it comes to working for the police, you-- and by you, Gus mostly means _Gus_\-- can end up doing seven unbelievably illegal things before breakfast, and that's the kind of thing that makes a guy start grinding his teeth in his sleep.

It's sleazy but not actually illegal to tell people you're a psychic and charge money for telling them really obvious things. It is illegal to lie to the police and/or interfere with an ongoing police investigation, which both Gus and Shawn do pretty much every single time they walk in the front door of the station.

"Walk-ins are simpler," Gus says, leaning across his desk in what he feels is a convincingly urgent, but not desperate manner. "I mean, if you have to ask if your husband is cheating on you, then he probably is, right? Too easy."

Shawn slams his hand down on his desk, making his little green army men jump. "It's so true. So true! And even if he isn't, who can prove a negative? You can't. And not just you, Gus! Nobody can. Mrs. Simmons said so, eighth grade math. So unless somebody has physical evidence to account for their whereabouts for every hour of the day, it's possible I could be right. Even if you did have physical evidence-- who can believe physical evidence? Physical evidence is so easy to fake!"

Gus hates to snark when Shawn is following his argument so enthusiastically. Actually, no he doesn't. At all. "So, completely unlike a psychic vision, then?"

"Gus," Shawn sighs, "don't be a stony-hearted Philistine. Besides, even if someone could prove that their boots were never, ever, ever, not even once, not ever--"

"Shawn!"

"--under someone else's bed, then all that means is that my psychic abilities overreached themselves. I was too good, Gus. I didn't just see the past, I saw everything, the totality, the holistic vision of the relationship. I saw future cheating. I know it's a little scary--"

"I wouldn't say a little. Actually, I wouldn't say 'scary' either, more like--"

"Or else, I saw someone cheating in their heart. Who hasn't cheated in their heart, Gus? Someone who would deny that they've cheated in their heart must have something to hide."

"You're awful, Shawn."

"Oh, come on. Any woman who would dump her boyfriend just because a psychic told her to is--"

"Crazy? Gullible? Deluded? A victim of an unscrupulous, conniving sneak?"

"--probably doing that guy a favor, in the long run. I mean, if you have these suspicions, why can't you just confront your boyfriend?"

"I don't have a boyfriend."

Shawn waggles his eyebrows. "You can't prove that."

"I don't have a boyfriend, Shawn!"

"It was the rhetorical you! Or the royal you. The general you... All generals are evil, have you ever noticed that? General Zod, General Grevious... Uh, help me out, I need one more."

"Come on, though--"

"Gus! Rule of three! Everything's funnier and more memorable in threes! I need a fictional evil general! ...And go."

"Shawn--"

"Gus, I said 'And go!'"

Gus stares at the ceiling for a second. "Okay, all right, uh... General Woundwort."

"Nice, Gus. Now about a fictional evil general that isn't a rabbit."

"You didn't say it had to be human," Gus argues. "Actually, wait a second, neither of your other examples were human either, so-- Stop distracting me from my point, Shawn."

"I love your point, Gus. It's so pointy. Go on. Impale me with your point."

Gus stares at Shawn.

Shawn stares at his little green army men. He carefully adjusts the position of one of them with just the tip of his finger.

"...Never say that again," Gus says calmly.

"...okay," Shawn says, but his lips are twitching.

"My p-- The thing I was trying to get across is-- Stop snickering-- is that these cheating cases are creepy. Not only creepy, but they're kind of wrong. I mean, if it's obvious, then yeah, you should go ahead and tell her, but they can't be the main part of the job we do. I'm not comfortable with that."

"So we should take more police cases, then. Yeah, I totally agree."

Gus opens his mouth, and then stops.

Shawn drums something triumphant on his desk with his hands, then spins around in his chair three times, chanting something inaudible under his breath. Apparently there's a little chair dance as well.

Gus looks around, but there's nothing within arms' reach that's suitable for chucking at Shawn's head. The stapler is tempting, but could end badly. The koosh ball is just weak. And the last time he winged a collectible action figure in Shawn's direction, Shawn took it, hid it for hours and then left a minuscule ransom note on Gus' desk which demanded "one million dollars in 1/16 scale bills" and was signed "love, an unbelievably tiny kidnapper."

"Well, I'm glad we've got that settled." Shawn slams his feet down on the ground to stop his chair from spinning, and Gus tries not to jump. "Jerk chicken?"

"...Fine," he says. "But you're buying."

Shawn grins.


End file.
